Awakening Monday Morning for Anti-Commerce's sake

Is it just me to notice, or is Oakland a Parking-Violation-Funded city?

Is "the Town" full of renters who pay for parking by not moving on street-sweeping mornings?

Wherever I go to live in the area, I never see very many people moving their cars in the morning, panicked faces twisted at the thought of paying 40 to 50 clams for an oyster of a parking spot every other week.

I believe that these people either have:

A. furiously researched and would rather pay the $50-$100/a month to park where they wish, instead of the $80-$1000 it costs to park a month in the San Francisco-Oakland Metropolitan Area;

B. deals worked out with the "Frank H. Ogawa Plaza" crowd for refunds on their violation fees,

C. deals worked out with the same "Ogawa Plaza" parking czars for cash & prizes / rewards / services to park in purposely bad places, possibly for the purpose of enticing other upstanding citizens (myself included) to park in equally-costly spots, and therefore owe the city the $50 or more for the privilege;

D. are on the plan my buddy had, which was park anywhere the hell you want to, until one day a few years and a few towns later, your car gets a big yellow tire-slipper, with a note that says "do not remove - this means you" on it.

My buddy's left the country to live abroad permanently because he didn't like the rules, but otherwise, there must be reasons why I don't see people furiously running around at 9am on the morning of the second or fourth Monday of the month, circling the block repeatedly, looking for a non-temporarily-illegal parking spot.

I forcibly woke myself from my peaceful slumber, after working into the wee hours the night before, deftly dodging the drunken-smoking-wino from the half-and-half house across the street, to move my car a total of 50 feet, minus the hundred-fifty yards of U-turns, just to dodge a $50 privilege-to-park-there-today-for-three-hours-fee, and I have to double-check my calendar to make sure that I'm not the daffy one, and today really is the one-two-three-fourth Monday of this first month of 2008.

I guess some just have more than meet the eye. I wish I could leave my car in the same place as I wine-and-fly my way to my own Bahamas resort or Tuscan villa, where my winery, parking lot, and garbage-collection interests boost my financial portfolio's total value to the "strong-to-quite strong" income bracket.

But instead, I rent, it's the end of the month, my credit cards get up and walk around on their own, and oh yea, I rent.

I long for the day when I count the week in 3-day groupings called "series", and my only dread is the horrors of braving the post-visiting RedSox game-crowds on BART. Anyone know where they'll be 3am on March 25th? Thanks Bud Selig for once again finding a way to screw the loyal fans; the parking commissioner of my baseball-related world.

9:38 am. 4th Monday of the Month. This side of the street still full. Minus one.

JN / LT